


Scar and Reason

by Knightqueen



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Interracial Relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ratings: R, Scars, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:36:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightqueen/pseuds/Knightqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She moved her hand from the wall next him and placed it over the hand currently resting on her thigh. "Cooking accident," She said. Resslik PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scar and Reason

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The Blacklist and all things related is property of NBC Television.

Sex tended to put everything under a microscopic perspective. Every flaw, every quirk, they became that much more interesting or irritating. Considering he was always looking up at Meera, there were details, the way his body moved under her hands, the way her hair framed her face. Things that he'd never become privy to by just standing next to her, became a hundred times sharper in the rush of adrenaline and endorphins.

Up against the wall of his apartment, he'd been lost in the sensation of her body pressed against his, the way her teeth nipped the sensitive skin of his neck, to really pay attention to the way her skin was raised on her right leg even as his hand slid toward her panty line. That is, until the fabric of her skirt fell away from her high.

Meera was far from distracted by her own body, but it was how he stiffened against her, failed to reciprocate, that made her stop. She pulled back slightly to look down at where his hand stopped, he didn't seem to notice she was watching. Donald conjured the worst case scenarios in his head.

He theorized it was from operation gone badly. Maybe some failed mook's attempt to burn her where she stood before she made a daring escape. Either way, the scar was old, practically a part of her. Whenever it happened it was a long time before she met him. Maybe even Emerson (that made him feel a little better). He thumbed the raised skin absentmindedly before he allowed himself to look at her. Meera's irritation was naked on her face. His erection had faltered, his attention wandered, her pulse was beginning to slow to its normal pace.

She moved her hand from the wall next him and placed it over the hand currently resting on her thigh. "Cooking accident," She said.

"What?" He blurted, his brain was slowly catching up to his present. "The scar, it's from a cooking accident back when I was eight," Meera clarified. "I was trying to cook something for my mum's birthday and set my trousers on fire when I tried to relight the stove with a match."

Donald stared down at the scar then back at her. "I was still playing out in the back with the pool when this happened, so I got the bright idea of throwing myself in the pool to put the fire out. And it worked, but I failed to realize that pulling my trousers off wasn't the brightest idea."

Donald made a face, his grip on her thigh became tighter. "Jeez," He breathed. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," Meera said. "They were my favorite trousers." Donald wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so she reacted. She pulled him toward her, their lips pressed against each other. Donald's state of mind went from somewhat clear to hazy again. He steadied himself against the wall, his hands slide down her waist down to her bottom.

Without a second thought he picked her up off the ground, he pushed away from the wall and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He turned so that she was against the wall. With some kind of muscle control, she pulled his shirt over his over his head and tossed it aside. Her lips were on his neck the next, working their down to his collar bone. He pushed a hand between them. His fingers slipped past the waistband of her skirt and underwear.

Meera raised her head so that their eyes met, he blinked and kept his hand perfectly still as he searched her gaze. 'May I?' the question is simple. Meera pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth and nodded. She felt Donald sigh against her lips, "Okay."

His fingers slipped between her clit, she tightened around him as he began to stroke, her body tensed and her hands claw downward at his back. His lips were against her neck, he pushed his fingers further inside when she let out of a moan. His hand left her and joined the other around her waist. As his lips explore her neck, Meera was more than content to challenge the strength of her arm when she used the other to slip between them and toward his pants. She unbuttons the jeans and pulls the zipper downward.

Meera presses her palm against his erection, there's a gasp against the space between her collarbone. Donald rocks his hips against hers, her fingers continue to paw at him. All he wants to do is get his pants off, the best he can do his shift his weight so that he can stand with his legs further apart for comfort's sake. "Damnit, Malik, that's not fair," Donald breathed against her collarbone. "I don't play fair," She laughs, moving her hand up and down against his erection.

She feels a shift in gravity as his legs buckle for a moment. He regains his footing. Meera drags her hand up his stomach and wraps her arms around his neck. "You almost dropped me," She squeaked.

"Not on purpose," He huffed, shifting his hips. The jeans aren't going anywhere and it's just not enough that his erection is pressed against her front but can go no further. "Would you be more comfortable on the bed?" Donald inquired breathlessly.

"Would you?" Meera asked, fingers tapping against his neck. Donald nodded without a second thought. "Yes," He says it as her legs remove themselves from around his waist and feet touch the ground. He lamented the momentary loss of her touch, but made short work of his jeans, tossing them aside.

He walks stiffly past Meera who followed him calmly toward the bed. He sits down with minor difficulty. Meera is standing between his open legs in an instant. Without anything to grab, he lays down, Meera leans forward and begins to pull at his boxers.

He raises his hips from the bed, hands braced against the edge of the bed. Meera smiled at him, her fingers gripped the waistband and pulled downward. As she does their lips meet, she kisses him once, pulled away, and kissed him again. When she leans in a third time, his hands come up and cup her face. Their noses are pressed against the other. They fall back onto the bed. Meera's weight bears down him, what relief he felt without his boxers dissipated immediately.

His hips buck against the pressure on his erection, Meera's pulls away and reaches down. She pulled her skirt up from around her, undoing the zipper on the front; she pushed the dress down so that it lay around her knees. Crawling up, her lips moved slowly across his stomach in successful with the hitches of his breath.

Donald's thought process moved in a linear path, she started from his stomach, naturally she'd work her way up. And certainty seemed that at first. Her lips were feather light against his skin, perhaps to the point where he wasn't sure if she was still kissing him or if he was responding to stimuli of hair dragging across his skin. He tried to sit up, one hand pressed against his chest and pushed back onto the bed. "Don't move."

She stopped at his left nipple, tongue poised to lick as she lowered herself onto Donald, eyes on him the entire time. Donald grunted and allowed his head fall back onto the bed as she allows him inside. His hips raised, his hands gripped her waist. Meera closed her teeth around his nipple. "Don't move," She repeats through her teeth. Donald tried to control his breathing as she lowered herself further down on him, bringing herself closer. Her hips moved slowly, responding to the involuntary clench of her muscles.

Without a second thought, he began to move in sync with her, all while she played merry havoc with his nervous with kisses on every inch of body. She didn't stop him. His hands squeeze her as she began thrusting the faster he moved. He sat up as she raised her mouth away from his shoulder, their lips met; her hands ran through his hair.

Meera rocked against him, hips undulating faster as she felt the oncoming of her climax. He felt her body tense, muscles contracting harder and faster. "Meera," Donald whispered when her lips moved down under his jaw. Her moans came one after the other following his more pronounced noises, his body began to shiver in her arms as she came. Turning his head, he caught her lips again, swallowing their individual cries of pleasure.

He bucked against her. Back arching off of the bed, Donald came. The grip on her hips tightened as he thrust upward, moaning in pleasure. Meera collapsed atop of him, her breath came in short gasps. Donald grunted when she pulled out of him, shifting her weight so that she lay on her side against him.

After a moment, Donald followed suite. Sweaty and clammy, it only took a moment for him to realize she was still wearing her blouse. Meera watched him with a self-satisfied smile on her face, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his stomach. "That was fun, we should do it more often," She said. Donald kissed her nose. "Were you serious about what happened to your leg?"

Meera blinked. "I say we should have more sex and the first thing you ask about is my leg?"

"No, no, no. I agree, we should have more sex," Donald responded hastily. "Definitely more sex. But I was curious."

"Listen, man, I've got no more reason to lie about my leg than you do about the strange amalgamation of spots on your arms," Meera countered with a lazy shrug of her shoulders.

"They're not spots, they're freckles," Donald pouted. "But-"

"Yes, I was telling the truth," She answered. "Why, do scars turn you on or something?"

Donald gave her a non-answer, with bob of his head and the way his lips curled telling everything she needed to know. She smiled, a thought suddenly hitting her. "Does your penis have freckles?"

He snorted. "You don't know what my penis looks like?"

"I know its white," Meera stated.

"Why, do you have a thing for freckled penises?"

Meera laughed at the absurdity of their conversation. "No, facial hair," She answered.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but I look really weird with a beard," Donald said, leaning in with the intention of kissing her.

Meera accepted the kiss for a moment then pulled away. "Not even a mustache?"

"No, that's probably worse," He paused, running his fingers through her hair. "Definitely worse."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a result of listening too much _Beyonce_. That said, this is kinda the first full fledged smut I've ever published. Critique would be nice, though. God knows, I think I was a little too over technical/repetitive about things in my goal to not be flowerly (which I probably failed in avoiding anyway). Idk, I hope you enjoyed it.


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